Snapdragon Garden
by Sardonic Kender Smile
Summary: Collection of 23 oneshots for Kitten Kisses. Multiple genres and pairings. Chapter Nine: Ninian looks forward to her wedding night...until she realizes Eliwood doesn't know about the massive scar she still bears. The wound he made with his own sword.
1. Robin Hood: Dart, Farina

_A/N: Before I start anything, I should point out that this fic is for __**Kitten Kisses**__—HAPPY BIRTHDAY! It's a collection of twenty-three oneshots, and all of them are prompts she had sent my way (yeah, I can't even take credit for the prompts xD). So, this fic's going to have several genres, pairings, and friendships, and will employ practically every FE7 character. For legit. Let's-a go! _

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_**Robin Hood**_

_**Prompt:** An Annoying Little Habit_

_**Characters:** Dart, Farina_

_**Genre:** Humour, Romance. **Rating:** K+_

Farina loved money.

Everybody knew that—Dart especially. Elimine, but that wench was a miser…he knew that full well on the cloudless day he stood with her before the prow as Fargus grumpily recited their wedding vows; he knew it and _loved_ it about her. That was how he had come to even like her, after all…they had met over a treasure map, bonded over a treasure hunt (if constantly screaming at each other and trying their hardest to crush the other into the dust counted as "bonding"), and made their living pirating ships around Badon. Dart knew that Farina worked hard for all she had—she had been a loyal mercenary before being a pirate, even if she did charge too much for her services—and he admired that part of her greatly. He liked the way coin made her eyes light up until they shone more than the gold itself, he liked the way she hoarded money in her spare socks as if that would keep someone from taking it…he even liked the way that she _never ever_ let him spend a single doubloon on something that he didn't need.

She did, however, have that one annoying little habit that nearly drove him out of his mind…

Taking _his_ money.

_And blast it all_--he swore viciously in his head as he dumped the contents of his coin purse (a biscuit and single piece of gold that she must have missed) onto the deck--_the woman's done it again!_

Oh, but she was a clever one. Dart had yelled at her a hundred times for filching his purse—and he never _did_ figure out what the bloody madwoman did with all that money!—but she had continued her wicked ways. It would have been easy enough to track her down and (attempt to) make her cough up the gold she had borrowed on the ship itself…but the ship was currently at port, and Farina could have been anywhere in Badon, for all Dart knew!

"Yeller-bellied siren!" he growled, straightening his bandana like a man who meant business before stomping down the gangplank and onto the dock with his last doubloon in his pocket.

The lass was hard to find, too. She wasn't drinking with her mates in the pub, she wasn't brawling with some ogling lad who needed to be taught some manners…she wasn't even flying that crazy feathered horse of hers, and on such a warm and cloudless day! That's when it hit Dart—if there was anything Farina was going to be doing, it was _making money_. With that established, he stalked off for the market.

After another hour of fruitless searching, the pirate was hot, tired, hungry, and—oh yes!—_didn't have enough money to buy a meal with. _

"Farina!" he bellowed to the sky—or what would have been the sky, if the bright orange and red cloth canopies of the market stalls weren't blocking it from view. "Ye bloody wench, I want me gold back!"

"Shut _up_, Dart!" a woman's voice snapped back angrily, floating through a wall of stacked red apples. "Mind your own business!"

"Me money _is_ me business!" he roared to the shining barricade of fruit. "So stop takin' it!"

"I don't have it!" Her voice, rather than harsh and defensive, was suddenly light and sing-song. That, Dart knew, was a very, _very_ bad sign.

Irritated, he edged his way behind the apple stall to find Farina and three little street urchins, their grubby hands fisted around doubloons—_his _doubloons. He rolled his eyes, sure that Farina had thrust the money to the children so that he couldn't say he had caught her red-handed.

"Woman, _what_ are ye doin'? And as fer _you_ young 'uns…" He turned to the children and tried to look stern, although the oldest of them couldn't have been a day older than nine and he found it difficult to be cross with them. "Don't ye know better than to be takin' what don't belong to ye?"

"They didn't take it," Farina corrected him crossly, "I gave it to them."

Dart's jaw dropped. "Me gold? Why?"

The three children cast their eyes to the ground, and even Farina looked away. She pressed her lips together for a long moment before murmuring,

"Their mother is sick. They don't have enough money to buy her medicine."

"So you give 'em _mine?_" Dart demanded.

"I already gave my gold away yesterday," said the pegasus knight quietly. "There was a blind girl walking in the street…she was crying because she was hungry, but the people around her mocked her, and a group of boys threw stones…so I gave my money to her, for food and a visit to a cleric."

A sob story—she _would_ be clever enough to make up something like that on the spot. Dart narrowed his eyes. "And why should I believe ye, eh? Ye let me believe that me last bandana was stolen by a sea monster fer a whole _month_ before ye confessed that yer blasted horse ate it!"

"Don't believe me?" Farina challenged, her eyes sparkling with sudden anger. "My gold is gone! Check my spare socks!"

That made Dart pause for a moment, but he was soon blustering again: "Ye mean to tell me that ye've been stealin' me gold all this time and just throwin' it out to kids ye see on the street?!"

"Well if you want it back," Farina sneered, "they're hardly a match for you. Go on and take it!" She gestured grandly to the three children, who all hunched their shoulders and prepared for him to storm over and snatch his money back.

Dart felt his face soften as he looked at them. It might not have been Farina's place to take his money without asking…but it certainly wasn't _his_ place to take it from the poor. Pirates stole all the time without any qualms—from merchants, from traders, from well-to-do travelers…but even a pirate wouldn't steal from a needy child.

They didn't really have anything to steal, after all.

"It's true, mister," the oldest child ventured timidly—a young and frightfully skinny lad who was in desperate need of a haircut and a pair of shoes. The two smaller girls at his sides—presumably his sisters, as they all had the same dark hair—nodded their agreement. "We'd asked her for a spare coin earlier this mornin', but she said she didn't have any gold with her. She said if we waited right here, she'd come back n' give us some."

Dart scratched his head, looked up at the faded canopy of the stall, sighed wearily, and finally nodded his consent. "Arrr. Fine. Take the money, scalawags, I don' need it as much as ye." As a second thought, he reached into his pocket for his last piece of gold and handed it to the boy.

"Thank you, sir," he said softly as the middle child latched onto his arm. The youngest girl even started to weep, with big, messy tears that traced the corners of her grateful smile.

Dart guffawed as the three ran away and quickly disappeared amongst the throngs of people in the market. "Ha! Didja hear that, wench? He called me 'sir'! Didja hear, Farina? I mean…hey…Farina?"

She wasn't saying anything. She was smiling, however…simply leaning against a wooden counter with her arms folded, gazing at him and smiling. It wasn't even that oh-so-familiar smile of hers, the catlike one that told him she had a big plan and he was going to suffer for it. This was _genuine_.

"I'm…proud of you, Dart," she said after a moment. "Who knew a salty idiot like you would have such a big heart?"

"And who knew a thievin' she-devil like ye would take gold only to give it to hungry children?" he shot back good-naturedly. "I was hoppin' mad this mornin', Farina, but I think I might forgive ye now."

"Good," she said with a grin as she reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. He escorted her back to the ship with his chin high, still getting a kick out of being addressed like a gentleman. He and Farina didn't get into another argument for the rest of the day—not even _once_.

However, just as Dart was about to drift off that night in his hammock, enjoying the fact that Farina _stopped talking_ as she fell asleep in her own hammock across the cabin, he remembered the words she had spoken earlier…and was slightly bothered.

"_Don't believe me? My gold is gone! Check my spare socks!"_

Of course he had believed her, back in the market…she hadn't had her socks with her, so he hadn't been able to check them, so he had…taken her at her word.

He should know better by now.

With a soft, suspicious growl, Dart rolled out of bed and padded over to Farina's side of the room, knowing that she kept her spare clothes in a rucksack she threw into the corner. He pawed through the canvas bag for a while before finally emerging with a pair of socks…a very heavy pair.

"Curse her!" he hissed under his breath as he unrolled them and a great many coins fell into his lap. He swiftly stuffed them in his pocket before matching the socks up again and returning them to the rucksack.

As angry as he was, he couldn't help but to chuckle and kiss his sleeping partner on the brow before returning to his own hammock, whispering,

"Elimine, but I love you, you lying snake."

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_A/N: She would. xD_

_Anyways, although there will be lots of chapters in this fic, they'll all be pretty short (well, short for me, anyway). We all know that I fail at brevity, but since I'll be making the attempt to write shorter pieces, feedback would be even more appreciated than usual in this fic, if you have a moment! And happy birthday again to the Mannadon! :P_


	2. Weather Permitting: Kent, Lyndis

_**Weather Permitting**_

_**Prompt:**__ Standing in the Pouring Rain_

_**Characters**__: Kent, Lyndis_

_**Rating:**__ K+_

_**Genre:**__ Angst_

She had been riding out to that hill every day for a fortnight. Despite months of ignoring etiquette so that she might speak plainly to her fellow lords about their next battle, and forgoing silk dresses so that she might fight in her Sacaen garb, and spending her time sharpening her sword rather than pouring tea, Lyndis fell back into the rhythm of her life in Caelin after the war with an ease that surprised Kent. Just as in the days before she had joined the small army of Marquess Pherae, she listened to Chancellor Reissman lecture about manners in the mornings and sat at her grandfather's side for meetings in the afternoons. She wore pearls around her neck and satin slippers on her feet. She tried not to speak unless spoken to. And every evening, weather permitting, she raced out to the stables as the sun began to stain the sky orange…and rode to the hill.

Kent was not exactly supposed to know this.

He was, however, not about to disobey an order from his liege. When Hausen watched his granddaughter ride off on her dark brown horse from one of the high windows of the castle and leaned over to whisper an order to Kent—"Follow her; make sure no harm comes her way"—the commander knew that even though he felt like he was invading upon Lyn's privacy, he had no choice but to find his own white steed and chase after her.

He had been following her for weeks now, though he kept her from realizing it. He tied his horse beneath the same oak tree every evening, weather permitting, to watch his princess from a distance—far enough that she could not sense his gaze or hear his horse's hoof beats, but close enough that he could reach her, should she need him.

She never did seem to need him. She would halt her horse each evening, slowly dismount, stand at the crest of the hill, and watch the sun set—weather permitting. It always seemed as if she was concentrating hard on something in the distance, and her only movement was caused by the wind as it tugged at the edges of her skirt and lifted her loose hair until it waved like a proud banner. When the sun was gone and she could no longer see, she finally mounted her horse and made her way back to the castle--far more slowly than she had left it.

Kent was glad when the weather permitted her to go, these days…she had seemed so worn, as of late. Her usually cheerful smile was now weary and tight, and she spoke more often of crop yields and foreign affairs than of her old favourite subjects—swordplay, birdcalls, and why Sain deserved to be beaten for talking to Florina. She looked most at peace when on that hill—_her_ hill, he had started calling it—even if she always seemed as if she was straining to see something more than what was already in front of her eyes. She looked happier there than within the castle, at least. Kent liked to see that peace in her.

Weather permitting.

Today, however…rain was falling, fat and heavy drops of rain that fell from the sky in sheets, rain that stung one's face when the howling wind picked up, rain that pummelled the earth so loudly that even the angry cracks and rumbles of thunder were muffled by the sound. And Lyndis still, for some reason, sprinted to the stables in her oiled fur cloak and took off for her hill. Kent was instantly alarmed, and wasted no time in riding off after her, thankful that the deluge hid the sounds of his pursuit.

_What can she be thinking?_ he wondered to himself, desperately yanking on the reins as his mount struggled with galloping through slippery mud. _She never rides out in the rain, and this storm is particularly fierce! She'll catch cold! She must be…_

_She must be so desperate to get away._

The thought hurt him, deep in his core—creating a throbbing ache that even the pouring rain could not soothe or wash away.

He finally reached his usual spot by the oak and guided his horse beneath its thick branches, breathing heavily in relief. Cold raindrops fell regularly even between the tree's brittle, browning autumn leaves, but he was glad to be out of the worst of the torrent. He brushed his soaked bangs out of his eyes in order to get a better look at Lyndis…and his heart only squeezed tighter at what he saw. She was standing on the hill as she always did, still and quiet, raising her chin high against the rain and fixing her eyes on something far beyond the horizon.

In that moment, as she stood at the crest of the hill, she was no longer a princess—or even a woman. She was a _bird_, a flightless, captive bird, bedraggled and broken upon the ground, gazing out into the distance and…unable to move. Anywhere. Ever.

Kent suddenly understood.

Along with his realization came a surge of shame—she had been hurting all this time, and he…he had taken every precaution to stay out of her sight. He had assumed that she had never called for him because she had never wanted him there with her…but what if she never called because she never even knew that he was there? Always there…watching her, just out of reach…

_I cannot allow this_, he told himself as he squared his shoulders and stepped out from beneath the meagre protection of the oak's canopy. _She is endangering her own health by staying out here. It may not have been my place to question her in the past, but it is certainly my place now! _

Still, climbing the hill was harder than he had thought it would be. Rain made the blades of grass slick, and most of them were uprooted anyway as their dirt foundations melted into mud. Kent had almost slipped several times before he finally made it to the top—not that a bit of mud would have mattered, since his clothes were already soaked through. Even once he had arrived, however, it took him a moment to gather the strength to release the words that had been resting on his tongue for so long:

"…Lady Lyndis?"

She turned slowly, as if completely unsurprised by his presence, her lethargic movements those of a person who didn't quite believe that their current situation was reality. Her dimmed green eyes suddenly flared open when she caught sight of him, however, and her whole being seemed to reanimate with recognition.

"Kent! What are you doing out here?"

"Forgive me, my lady, but I feel that I must ask the same question," he responded. "This weather hardly permits such an excursion, and I feel that it is far from your best interest to continue to--"

He broke off suddenly to stare at her face, framed by curling locks of hair that the wind had pulled free of her hair band. Water ran in rivulets down her cheeks and beaded at the line of her jaw, dripping from her delicate chin.

_Are those all raindrops?_

"Lady Lyndis," Kent began, and suddenly found that his throat had closed and would not let him speak. He had to clear it in order to continue, in a softer voice: "Lady Lyndis, are…are you alright?"

_No_, said her large eyes, though her mouth curved upward into a gentle smile. _Not right now_. "I will be."

"It seems…unlike you, to ride out on such an evening," Kent told her hesitantly. "You ride out _every _evening. As your royal retainer, I…"

_Retainer_, he sneered at himself. _You still hold yourself at bay with the word. She has never called you 'retainer', she has called you 'Kent', 'comrade',_ 'friend'…

"I-I'm worried for you," he finally blurted out. "If I may be so bold as to say so."

The expression that creased her brow was most peculiar—as if she was concerned that he would feel concern for _her_. "Why, Kent? It's just a little water…"

"Then why did you not ride out fortnight ago, when it was merely drizzling?" he pressed, although he knew it was not his place to question her. "Or a week before that, when it rained hard but did not thunder?"

She did not answer, but instead turned her face away from him, back to where she had previously been looking.

"…Did something happen?" he asked in a whisper.

She paused for a long moment before answering, and when she spoke, he could barely hear her: "I can't…I don't…I don't think I can do this any more, Kent."

He didn't have to ask her what she meant.

"Lady Lyndis…I…"

Words failed him spectacularly. What he truly wished to do was reach out for her and pull her against him, to hold her tightly and kiss her face until he had forced whatever sorrow lurked within her soul out forever. In that moment, he felt that he could do it—that his feelings would have been enough to make her smile again. He could think of nothing more powerful.

He wasn't so foolish as to believe himself, however, and so he did not move.

"I'm not going to be a good ruler," she told him, shaking her head slowly. "Grandfather says he believes in me, but…what choice does he have? I'm the only heir…the only one."

"Not a good ruler?" Kent asked incredulously. "Why, Lady Lyndis…how could you say such a thing? After leading your Legion, or after aiding Lords Eliwood and Hector, or…"

"That's not _ruling_," Lyn insisted. "And I always had help. Hector could make a crowd fall silent when I could not, and Eliwood was the one who came up with all the battle plans. But to take the throne of Caelin…that's…different. You and Sain and Florina can't help me sign treaties or make small talk…" She paused to laugh slightly, bitterly. "I hardly even see you all, anymore! I've spent so much time studying the laws…"

Was that what prompted the haunted look in her eyes? Kent had never seen her look so weary before…and certainly never when she was giggling with Florina, scolding Sain, or begging Kent himself to take a break. It was true, he knew, that she really _was_ very isolated. Her other good friends, such as Lord Hector, were in separate cantons or—in the cases of those like Wil—so far below her status that they never entered the throne room she occupied so often.

"…It must be lonely," Kent murmured, aching to reach out and touch her shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to act.

Lyn smiled sadly and nodded once. "Yes…but it's alright. I know that it's important to learn these things, even if it means seeing less of the people I love—because I'm learning _for_ the people I love. It's just that…the more I learn, the more I realize that I'm not suited to learn it." She tossed her head once, as if to flick raindrops from her face—a futile attempt. Kent realized for the first time that she had her hood down, and was voluntarily getting drenched. "There were other things I was supposed to know, Kent…how to dance after a good hunt, how to braid feathers into my daughter's hair when she came of age, how to shoot a bow while riding a horse. Had the Taliver not interfered, I…I would have known all of this. That is what my body and mind were made for, not…" Her voice softened as she glanced at him, until her last words were so gentle that Kent almost couldn't hear them: "Not Caelin."

His throat suddenly felt too tight, but he was finally able to swallow and mutter, "I understand, milady."

"I knew you would." She turned to face him full-on for the first time, and he could see her full lips stretch into a genuine smile…though it lasted only a moment, and soon faded into an expression of pensive despair. "I can't let everyone down, Kent, but I also can't embrace this future. I don't know what to do."

"Perhaps…perhaps wait a few more weeks, and see how you feel then?" the knight suggested, much too quickly. "This trepidation will surely pass, milady, I—"

"How can such darkness pass if I never see the sun?" she interrupted impatiently. "I ride out every day, but I can only catch the end of the sunset, and somehow I feel as if I never truly see the light at all! I never feel it on my face unless it passes through a wall of glass, first!"

"My lady…"

"_Everything _is a wall! Stone and mortar, or heavy oak…even the windows would slice my hands to ribbons if I ever dared to break them!"

Kent received a sudden mental image of his lady pounding her fists against the door to her room, pounding until they bled, and he was momentarily unable to draw a breath. "Lady Lyndis—"

"I can't stay here anymore, Kent!" she cried, her emotion finally pouring forth like the rain that had long since soaked them both. He wondered how long she had kept herself silent. "I know that I can't give Caelin the ruler that she deserves! Everything would be better under Eliwood's rule, or even Hector's…Ostia is vast and rich—the people here would never want for anything, if Hector included it in his realm! Caelin is a part of me, but it _isn't my home!"_

He didn't want to speak the words suddenly bubbling up in his throat, but it was habit, he was a _vassal_, and when he had sound advice he was obliged to speak it, no matter how far away it would push her or—

"Why do you not just return home, then, Lady Lyndis?"

"I can't do that," she murmured, suddenly calm again. "I can't part with Grandfather, and…what about Florina? She joined Caelin's forces to be near me, so I couldn't leave her here alone…and what about Chancellor Reissman? Think of what he'd say, after all that time teaching me manners! And all of the nobles just got accustomed to me, and the people are all depending on me to lead, and…I can't just get up and _leave_, Kent."

"You must…" Kent's throat suddenly felt thick, and he had to swallow hard to continue. "You must do what is right for you. You may have obligations toward the people of Caelin, but…you were already living your own life when we came for you. Was it fair for us to take you away from that? To keep you here, as if you have no other choice?"

"But this was what I was born into, as well," Lyn insisted quietly. "It's fine if people depend on me…I'm just frightened that someday I will let all of them down. And even though that fear is with me every day, I still remember all the people that need me to at least _try_. If I abandon them, they will…they will hate me! So I can't go--no one will _let_ me go."

"…I will let you go," Kent answered, shutting his eyes tightly. When he opened them again, he found that Lyn was staring at him, her own eyes incredulous. Before he could react, she had thrown herself at him, squeezing his neck fiercely in an embrace.

"Will you forgive me?" she pleaded as she buried her face in his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her shaking frame. "I have to leave!"

"Of course. You can go," he whispered again. The raindrops rolling down his face were suddenly warm, and tasted vaguely of salt as they reached his lips. "You can go, you can go."

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_A/N: This was originally going to be the first chapter, but then I realized…it's probably too sad. In fact, it may be the first thing I've ever written that didn't have at least ONE joke, quip, or pun. There is NOTHING funny here. (This feels…really odd, actually xD). This one was a lot harder to write than the previous chapter (kenders do not win at angst), so if you have any comments or critiques (or—hey!—pointers on how to write better angst), please let me know! _


	3. Nothing, Now: Lloyd, Linus

_A/N: So…I have no idea what the family life of the Reeds would have been like (and the game probably offers clues, but I remember precious little about the Black Fang in general, for some reason)…so I made assumptions. I don't THINK anything conflicts, canonically, but if it does I'm sorry. xD_

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_**Nothing, Now**_

_**Prompt:** I Give Up_

_**Characters:** Linus, Lloyd_

_**Rating:** T_

_**Genre:** Angst, Family_

Lloyd wasn't sure whether it was the sound of Sonia's hand connecting with Nino's cheek, the sound of the girl's cry of pain, or the sound of her body hitting the floor that made him snap his head up. Perhaps it had been all three sounds at once—surely it would take that many offences in such a rapid order to distract him from his task of sharpening his sword. He had been trying to stay focused, sitting in the corner of the family chamber while Linus lounged moodily by the window and Nino tripped with a basket of berries—"I picked them for you, Mother!"—and spilled them at the woman's feet. Sonia's angry words hadn't been enough to faze him, and neither had his father's unnervingly cold silence…but the poor little sob from _Nino_…that was enough to make him pause.

It was enough to make _Linus_ jump to his feet and race over to Sonia and Brendan, who were sitting on the couch.

"You need to _stop_ treating her that way!" he roared, standing protectively over Nino's fallen body as she tremblingly pushed herself up into a sitting position. Lloyd almost rolled his eyes—what a fool his brother was. Surely he knew better than to speak of the devil…let alone _to_ her.

Sonia's brilliant golden eyes narrowed to mere slits. "What did you say to me, boy?"

"Leave her alone," Linus persisted. "She was just trying to do something nice."

"No, Linus," Nino piped up from the floor, sniffing once before wobblingly rising. "It was my mistake…I tripped and messed up again…"

"You stay out of this," snapped Sonia. "And you, Linus, had better watch your tongue. Weren't you ever taught to respect your parents?"

Lloyd watched a shudder run through his brother, watched him go taut with rage and grief. Linus looked Sonia right in her unnatural eyes and hissed,

"You are _not_ my parent!"

Lloyd had expected to hear another slap, but the only sound that reached his ears was that of Linus groaning slightly and dropping to one knee. He felt his lips twist into a smirk, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. _Of course. She wouldn't hurt him in a way that anyone expected; cruelty such as hers has an imagination of its own._

Sonia, too, was smiling—in the cruel, sadistic way that only she could manage. Only the position of her hand, fingers crooked—_clawed!_—as she concentrated, showed that she was using her magic…using it to squeeze Linus's insides until he couldn't breathe, to burn holes through his stomach, to turn his blood to ice underneath his skin. Lloyd had to look away as Linus coughed to mask a cry of pain. He felt the muscles of his face twitch as he fought to keep his composure. _We're trapped. If I speak up to defend him, she'll only worsen his pain to spite me…to teach us both to stay in line._ He turned back and glared at his father, willing his gaze to bore through the older man that he had once respected. _She is hurting your son! Why won't you defend him? Be a man and speak up—or does she own you completely?!_

Miraculously, a shred of the old Brendan Reed suddenly shone through, and he gently touched _that woman's_ shoulder as he murmured, "Dearest, don't be so hard on the boy…he just cares about his sister."

"He will not speak to me so rudely," Sonia hissed in defiance, curling her taut fingers into a fist. Linus gave a dry sob before crumpling to the ground completely, finally free of her torture. Nino went to go put her arms around him, but Sonia glanced her way ominously and the girl quickly scooted back again. Tears were swimming in her huge eyes. She looked back to Lloyd, and as Sonia turned her attention to Brendan, Lloyd mouthed,

"He's okay. It's all okay. I promise."

Nino nodded and drew her sleeve across her eyes.

"I think I can take care of the disciplining in this household," Brendan was saying to his demon-wife. Her eyes flashed furiously at his words, but her full lips curved into a flirtatious smile…so he wouldn't notice her anger, Lloyd realized with contempt. He had once thought his father too wise to fall for the wiles of that woman, but she was much cleverer than he had thought…or perhaps his father was much weaker than he had thought. He could see Brendan weakening even then, as Sonia traced the muscles of his arms with her fingertips and kissed him lightly.

"You can discipline," she breathed against his face, "Or you can come with me for a moment." Then she kissed him again.

Lloyd raised his eyebrows and glanced over to Linus and Nino, but they were looking at each other and not paying attention to their "mother's" obvious seductions.

"I'll be right back," Brendan told his children sternly. "You three behave yourselves."

Sonia took his hand and made him rise from the couch, smiling wickedly. Brendan followed her out of the room and shut the door behind them. His eyes never left Sonia, watching her walk with a sensuous, feline grace.

As soon as they were gone, Lloyd snorted in disgust. _You'll "be right back"…hah!_ It was no secret that they would be gone for several hours, luxuriating in their own decadence. The great Brendan Reed, one of the finest warriors in the Black Fang, was an utter slave to his own lust.

"…Are you okay, Linus?" Nino asked, breaking the silence between the three half-siblings.

Linus grinned at her recklessly as he sat up, causing her to smile in turn. "'Course I am! I'm always okay, aren't I?"

_And you're always an arrogant, lying idiot…though I suppose that's fine, if it makes her happy._

Linus looked meaningfully at Lloyd then, who quickly suggested, "Nino, I bet if you pick up all those berries you spilled, Legault would still like them."

The girl brightened. "That's a good idea, Lloyd! Uncle Legault is always hungry…I'll give them to him!"

She was humming and gathering berries on her hands and knees by the time Lloyd helped his brother to his feet and half-dragged him out of the room. He didn't relinquish his grip until they were well down the hall.

"I hate that Sonia woman," Linus hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. "I _hate_ her!"

"That's a strong word," said Lloyd calmly. _Though I understand. Elimine, do I understand._

Linus swore. "And I mean it with my whole heart! She can't…she can't take Mother's place, Lloyd, I don't care _what_ Father says!"

"Please, brother," he said with a sigh, "Mother is gone. It's been so long already…you can at least try to be mature about this--"

"Mature?!" cried Linus, and the next thing Lloyd knew, the taller swordsman had grabbed the front of his jacket and hoisted him up on his tiptoes. "Lloyd, you can't say that this doesn't bother you! That she doesn't make you want to tear her to _pieces_!"

_It does no good to get angry. Anger leads to mistakes. Anger is a weakness._

"…I don't want that, Linus," Lloyd said softly—almost apologetically. Linus looked baffled. "It's best to just stop thinking about the situation--"

"Stop _thinking_?" Linus roared, and slammed his brother back against the wall. Lloyd's head collided with the dark stone behind him, but he locked eyes with the other man and pressed his lips firmly together, refusing to say anything. _I will not be angry with you either, Linus. It simply isn't worth it._

Linus met his gaze readily, fire burning fiercely in his eyes…but as the moments passed and Lloyd's expression did not change, the fire dimmed and darkened into something much worse than anger.

"You…don't even care, anymore," Linus whispered in horrified realization. "You think there's nothing we can do."

Lloyd only smirked in reply.

"You're _giving up!_" his brother shouted.

"I am," Lloyd replied evenly. "And so are you—I could see it from the moment she brought you to your knees. You know that we can't fight her…she's our…father's wife." He couldn't bring himself to say what she really was. _Matriarch. Monster. Master._

Linus stood still for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with his efforts to calm himself. Finally he released Lloyd's jacket and put his hands on his brother's shoulders instead, lowering his head to rest upon one of those shoulders after another minute had passed.

"What have we become, Lloyd?" he mumbled.

Linus was trembling. One of the most accomplished members of the Black Fang…one of the best swordsmen in the country…one of the bravest men that Lloyd had ever known…_trembling._

"What have any of us become?" Lloyd murmured back. _We are all puppets in her show, we are all pawns in her game…_"We are all nothing, now."

* * *

_A/N: I always felt bad for the kids in that family…all this crazy janx is happening to them and everyone else and they can't do anything to stop it because it would wreck their family even more than it's already wrecked. _


	4. Irresponsibility: Kent, Sain

_A/N: Wah-hey! I got…zero reviews for the last chapter. That's never happened to me before (I'm so spoiled, haha). I know y'all are a nice bunch, but if it was really THAT bad, I need to know what sucked and how to improve it, you know? Just my two cents._

_Anyway! Here are some characters I've actually had practice writing. Hopefully it'll be better!~_

_

* * *

_

_**Irresponsibility**_

_**Prompt:** I'll Find My Way Back to You_

_**Characters:** Kent, Sain_

_**Rating:** K_

_**Genre:** Friendship_

Irresponsible.

That's what it was. Sain was being completely and totally irrational, insensible, and _irresponsible_. And Kent couldn't stand it.

"You're a fool," he said coldly.

"I know," Sain agreed lightly, and went back to saddling his horse. Kent repressed the urge to shiver as he stood in the doorway of the stables and an icy wind bit at his back.

"It's winter."

"I know."

"It's _snowing_."

"I know."

"And you're going…to Ilia."

"That's the plan." Sain looked up from his task and smiled, somewhat weakly.

Every ounce of logic and common sense that Kent had was railing against his partner's will. "Sain…winters are much harsher in Ilia. You only have the one horse, few provisions…and no one with you." He tried not to betray how worried he was—worried for his friend. Worried for his friend's target.

"Kent," the Green Lance responded softly, "I've told you…I have no choice."

"No choice?" Kent snorted.

For once, their roles were reversed—Sain growing solemn in the face of Kent's mockery. Kent noticed that the other man did not look at him as he whispered, "I will die without her."

"What you will _die_ in is this weather," Kent corrected harshly, gesturing to the fast-falling snow behind him. "Don't be overdramatic."

Sain's eyes were still cast to the floor. "I will die," he murmured, "I will die, I will die. My heart can withstand the frigid winds and the burning sun, but not without her as my warmth and water."

"So, you're going to find her." Kent folded his arms, feeling oddly antsy now that Sain had finished saddling his horse and was reaching for the bridle—one step closer. "You don't even know where she _is_."

"I'll find my way to her."

Sain sounded _so_ very sure of himself, as confident as always. Kent gritted his teeth.

"Will you always be this carefree? Running off from Caelin, from Lady Lyndis, from your _sworn duties_ as a knight to go cavorting through a snowstorm?"

"I don't have any duties as a knight if I quit being one," Sain responded matter-of-factly, cinching the bridle more tightly.

_Quit._ The word stung Kent deeply.

"Sain," he said, taking a deep breath, "You can't treat everything in life so carelessly. What if you _do_ find her? What if you find her and then something else takes your fancy and you just turn your back and leave her, too?" It was a struggle to keep his voice from rising.

Sain looked at his partner then, his eyes wide with surprise. His mouth opened to form a retort, but nothing came out, so Kent spoke again:

"If you hurt her...if you hurt Fiora…then _I_ shall find my way to _you_!"

Instead of being angered or put-off by the threat, Sain merely smiled sadly, his eyes softening. "Kent…I could never hurt her. I could never leave her. I may not be as serious as you, but surely you know how much my knighthood and Caelin mean to me? It is not easy to leave all this behind."

Kent had not thought of that. He could find no retort.

"Please don't be mad at me for leaving," Sain entreated quietly. "I know that this is about more than our duty, and more than our friendship…I know that you felt for her too. You tried to fall for her during the war, so that you would quit falling for Lady Lyndis…"

_Quit. Quit!_ Kent flinched.

"The relationship between Fiora and I was strictly professional," he said hoarsely. "Even if she is a strong, intelligent, _beautiful_ woman…"

"You still love Lady Lyndis," Sain finished the sentence gently, though his ending was far different from the one Kent was going to allow himself to give. The Crimson Shield swallowed hard as his eyes fell to the ground. He did not look back up again until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and raised his head to find that Sain had crossed the distance between them.

"It sounds impossible and silly," he said with his usual reckless smile, "but I am going to find my way to Fiora. No matter the cost; no matter the odds."

How very absurd he was. Very absurd and very…brave. Kent's throat felt tight.

Sain's smile widened at the corners then, and he winked roguishly. "Likewise, even if it sounds impossible and silly, no matter the cost and no matter the odds, I demand that you find your way into the heart of our fair liege!"

Sain was heading back to his horse, ready to go, ready to _leave_, and Kent's eyes were suddenly burning. "Sain, that's…I couldn't…"

_I am not courageous enough. I had quit._

"It's fine to be scared, you know," Sain informed him as he hoisted himself into the saddle. "I'm scared, right now, and not ashamed to admit it!"

"So why are you leaving?" prodded Kent. "Think about this—it isn't logical in the least!"

"Because there are some things worth venturing out for, eh?"

Kent knew he was talking about Lyndis as well as Fiora, and tried to protest. "It's not my right, it's not my _place_ to—"

"It should have been high treason for you to have let a beauteous ivory rose such as Fiora get away," Sain interrupted. "But…you only did it because you couldn't stop your feelings for Lady Lyndis. It would be a shame if you were to let her get away, as well."

Kent stared at his partner for a long moment, but finally—strangely—a laugh escaped him, and he buried his face in a hand. "I am the fool, not you!"

"No, I'm still the fool!" Sain contradicted cheerily. "I'm riding out into a snowstorm without any idea of where I'm going, and it's a terrible idea, but…frankly, partner, I'm afraid all I can say to you is that you're in my way."

Kent glanced about, remembering that he was indeed still standing in the middle of the stable doorway, barring Sain's way out. He could continue to stand there, if he so chose…he could keep Sain inside and out of danger, he could keep Fiora protected from Sain's flightiness, he could even keep Lyndis ignorant of his treasonous love, safe within her castle as he remained outside.

…There was no gain in that.

"Be careful," Kent said, more of an order than anything else, as he stepped to the side and allowed Sain to draw even with him.

"Yes, General!" Sain kidded with a snappy salute. He reached down his arm after a moment, and Kent clasped it tightly.

"You'll need to write me if you live."

"I know."

"And you'd better treat Fiora as if she were the greatest gift that's even been given to you, because she is."

"I know."

"And you need to remember to polish your sword because I certainly won't be around to remind you myself--"

"Kent, I _know_!" Sain whined, fidgeting impatiently in the saddle.

"Then get out of here."

Sain grinned at him once and was gone, disappearing quickly amidst the curtains of falling snowflakes. Kent irritably raised an arm to wipe off the white, stinging powder that his partner's horse had kicked up into his face.

Irresponsible.

That's what it was. Sain was being completely and totally irrational, insensible, and _irresponsible_. And that's what Kent liked about him.

With a deep breath, he shut the stable doors and made his way back to the castle.


	5. Irony: Eliwood, Ninian

So...I wrote this one forever ago, but am just getting around to posting it...eek, I feel so rusty, fic-wise...

* * *

_**Irony**_

_**Prompt:** As Cold as Ice_

_**Characters**: Ninian, Eliwood_

_**Rating:** T_

_**Genre:** Tragedy, Romance_

_Once upon a time._

He promised to keep her safe.

xXx

Before, Eliwood had always considered irony as something humorous. It was something found in plays and good books, just as war used to be a glorious bedtime story and sword fighting used to have rules like "wait until your partner is ready" or "it isn't honourable to attack from behind". Everything had changed from what he had once assumed—such was growing up, he realized bitterly. He should have guessed ahead of time that even irony wasn't only used for light-hearted antics or epic plot twists.

"_Your hands are as cold as ice." _

That's what he had told her, once…she had stumbled and fallen after fleeing from a myrmidon—who had attacked her from behind, and Eliwood cursed himself for not realizing sooner that not every swordsman learned the same rules that he did, growing up. He had just been able to reach her, plunging his rapier through the myrmidon and killing him in one fell swoop. Her crimson eyes were huge with awe and fear as her enemy's dead body crumpled before her, as Eliwood pulled out his sword…from the corpse's back.

_I was just as bad as he was. I broke the rules too, did I not?_

He had extended a hand to help her back to her feet, thanking the Saint that she was unharmed…but as soon as she had put her hand in his, he had realized something was amiss. Slowly, he sank down to his knees beside her, locking his eyes on hers and still holding on to her hand.

"_Ninian," _he had whispered. _"Ninian, your hands are as cold as ice."_

Her eyes had flared open with fear, and he wondered briefly what he had said wrong. "_Oh, n-no, milord, my fingers just get cold easily--"_

"_Winter is approaching," _Eliwood had mused, feeling concern grip him. _"I'm so sorry, you must be in want of a cloak. Why didn't you say anything?" _

"_I'm fine," _she had assured him. _"Truly, milord, I'm fine…" _

She was trembling violently. After a moment's pause, Eliwood had reached for her other hand and chafed them gently between his own in an effort to warm them. He followed her gaze to the myrmidon's body, facedown in its own blood.

"_Thank you," _she had whispered, so weakly that he had hardly been able to hear her.

"_Of course,"_ he had told her gently. In that moment, he had wanted nothing more than for time to stop—with her gaze on his face and her health intact. He knew that she trembled from far more than the cold. "_Don't worry, Ninian…I will make sure that no harm ever comes to you."_

Nergal had managed to snatch her up anyway.

_It isn't honourable to--_

Durandal had just felt _right_ in his hand, as smooth and cool as her cheek against his palm. That was why it had been so easy to attack when the dragon had appeared, rearing over his comrades…he feared for them, feared for the girl Nergal still held in his clutches, feared that if the dragon slew him, he could never rescue her. That was why he had attacked it first.

_Wait until your partner is ready_.

It wasn't until the wounded dragon shrank into the form of a bleeding girl that the nightmarish beast became a true nightmare. Eliwood had run to her, had cradled her body in his arms…had fully realized the true meaning of irony.

xXx

_Happily ever after._

She died.


	6. An Instant: Eliwood

_A/N: So, I actually had this written over a year ago. Never posted it because the ending was cheesy. I have now come to accept the cheese that I write, so since it at least SUITS the end, here it is. _

* * *

**_An Instant_**

**__****Prompt: **The many friends we've lost along the way

**Characters: **Eliwood (and Nils)

**Rating: **PG

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort

_Plop._

The small, smooth stone hit the surface of the water and immediately broke it, sinking to the depths faster than Eliwood's eye could follow. He smiled wryly and rested an arm on his knees as he fingered another stone in the sand beside him.

_There's one—gone forever. Oh, Father…_

It wasn't he that killed Elbert, he had to remind himself. It had been Nergal draining his quintessence for moonturns on end, Nergal, the scourge who was still out there, somewhere, _laughing_ at him…Nergal had taken his father. Eliwood supposed he should have been grateful that he had managed to reach his father in time to see him, just once more…but in a way, knowing that he was still too late to save Elbert's life only made it more painful. On top of that, his father had drawn his last, rattling breath while Eliwood had been holding him. He could _feel_ the life leave the man he had loved most in the world, slipping away as quickly as a stone sinks in water.

The memory was not as swift to fade.

_Plop._

But of course, he thought as he tossed another stone, his father had not been the first, and he certainly hadn't been the last. Lowen had been slain by a pirate ambush in Badon, when Eliwood's attention was focused on their captain. Perhaps the only thing worse than the regret in his gut was the look in Marcus' eyes.

_He had such potential…such loyalty…and he was so very young. Lost in an instant._

_Plop._

And Uther…recently stolen by an illness, just as both of his parents had been. Eliwood felt his death very acutely, even though his grief was nothing compared to Hector's. He had lain awake for several nights afterward wondering how the brilliant man who had followed in his father's footsteps to make Ostia powerful, the smirking elder brother who had tossed pebbles at Hector as he sparred, and the wise friend who had helped tutor Eliwood himself in law…could be gone. Gone in an _instant_, swept away by the current of his cough.

_Plop._

There was a casualty on the Dread Isle, too: an Ostian spy by the name of Leila. Eliwood hadn't known her personally, but Hector had seemed quite disturbed by her death, even if he didn't immediately show it…and the thief Matthew had not spoken to anyone besides Hector for days after discovering her body. Poor man—his careful indifference only made Eliwood realize all the more how much Leila must have meant to him.

_Plop._

And then there was Matthew, himself…an unlucky target of the Bishop Kenneth's unholy light magic as it streaked across meters of snow to consume the thief in golden fire.

_Plop._

Bartre, gutted by a mercenary before Serra had time to reach him.

_Plop_.

Florina, plummeting to the ground without a sound, a single arrow in her breast and four more in her mount's wing.

_Plop._

Erk, surrounded by cavaliers, brought to his knees with his red cloak in tatters as the usually demure Lady Louise screamed and screamed…

Eliwood paused as he picked up his next stone, rubbing his thumb along its water-polished edge and staring out across the stream for a long, long time. The next death hurt to think about, and for a while he struggled to stop from doing so. He bit down on his lip hard, but the sting did nothing to distract him. Finally he leapt to his feet and hurled the stone into the water with a fierce cry.

_Splash!_

Ruby eyes, ice-pale hair—

_Splash!_

Blue scales glittering in the afternoon sunlight, stained with silver blood—

_Splash!_

Dissolving into the familiar figure he had held so often before, limp and broken in his arms, smiling at him as she breathed her last and slipping away before he could call her name, before he could atone for his terrible mistake, _gone in an instant-!_

Eliwood fell to his knees then, stumbling over a branch stuck in the riverbank and unable to right himself quickly enough. His right arm was aching from the countless stones he had assailed the river with, and the front of his tunic was now moist with mud. His breathing was too heavy, and he realized after a moment that it had less to do with his rock-throwing than with the way his eyes were currently stinging. He pushed himself back to his feet with a sigh.

_All of them, gone._

"Lord Eliwood?" a voice asked suddenly, and Eliwood turned with a jolt to find a thin boy carefully making his way down the riverbank.

"N-Nils!"

"Lord Eliwood, are you all right?" the young bard inquired, worry in his red eyes. _So like his sister's._ "I saw you fall, and…"

"I'm fine," Eliwood assured the lad, trying to smile. "I just tripped, that's all." He glanced down and picked at the front of his damp clothes with a sigh.

"…I saw you throwing rocks, too," Nils shyly ventured after a moment. "You seemed sadder and sadder after every stone…why were you doing that?"

Eliwood almost smiled again at that. He supposed the boy _was_ ages older than he looked, after all—but the juxtoposition within him of a child's wonder and an old man's perception were strange nonetheless. "I am sorry that you had to see that. I was just…thinking…" He trailed off, unsure of how to explain himself.

"…Of my sister?" Nils enquired quietly. Eliwood looked up at him in alarm, his answer getting caught in his guilt-thick throat. He wanted to tell the truth, but he could not speak.

"It's okay," said Nils, seating himself on the riverbank beside the lord. After a long, awkward pause, Eliwood sat too. "I think about her too. All the time. Sometimes it's hard to believe that she's really gone."

Eliwood nodded, but Nils had more to say.

"Do you think about Lord Elbert, too? I think about him. He was very kind to Ninian and I…he told us stories when we were scared. He held our hands when nobody else would. I really miss him."

"I miss him too, Nils," Eliwood whispered.

"And Lord Uther is gone, also. I remember him…that was the day I got sick." The boy's voice faltered. "He let us all stay in his castle when we needed shelter."

"Yes, I remember that…it was nice to be back in Ostia. I used to visit all the time, but it had been so long…"

"And Bartre and Erk and Florina…" Nils was counting off the casualties on his fingers like any other boy would count marbles. "It's sad that they had to go."

_It's sad that you had to see them go,_ Eliwood wanted to say. Nils may have been a dragon, decades older than Eliwood himself, but he was still a child even by his people's standards. He shouldn't be fighting in a war, losing friends like Eliwood had lost friends—

That's when it hit him. Nils had been there the entire time. He had felt Death just as Eliwood had…just as _everyone_ doubtlessly had. Eliwood was not the only person who had lost someone, and knowing that made the loss suddenly bearable. There was Hector, there was Marcus, there was Matthew…and Nils, here beside him, Nils, who understood the death of _Ninian_. He realized then that he should not be moping on the riverbank, throwing stones and mourning the short, suddenly-ended lives…he should be honouring their memories, for they deserved no less.

It was time to be strong, now. For everyone.

For Nils.

Eliwood stood then, causing the boy to look up at him in mild surprise. "Where are you going, Lord Eliwood?"

"I am going to laugh," Eliwood retorted.

Nils's tiny, pale brow furrowed in confusion. "To…laugh? But why?"

"Because Nergal thinks he's won," declared the lord of Pherae. "He's fought us and tricked us and taken away people that we love, because he thinks that he can snatch those lives away from us in an instant and leave us powerless, throwing rocks into a stream. But he _can't_ take those lives…not like that. They may have fallen in battle, but that doesn't mean they aren't with us still. That doesn't mean that we can't remember them, that we can't love them anymore. We have not lost yet, Nils, so why shouldn't we laugh?"

As Eliwood watched, the boy smiled—for the first time, it seemed to him, in days. "Yes…yes, Lord Eliwood, I think you're right."

"Come," he said, extending a hand to Nils to help him off the ground. "We still have a lot of training to do, if we're going to put Nergal in his place."

"I'm ready," said Nils determinedly. Eliwood bent over and picked up a new stone, and after a moment, Nils did the same. The two hurled their rocks into the stream at the same time, making two big splashes, watching droplets of water fly and ripples spread. Finally, satisfied, they returned to camp.

* * *

_A/N: Told you so! And Manna, I know you picked all the prompts and characters, but I promise the next chapter will have characters you actually like, haha. _


	7. Rescue: Kent, Lyn

_**Rescue**_

_****_**Prompt: **Holding hands/take my hand

**Characters:** Kent, Lyn

**Rating:** T, on account of reading so much George R. R. Martin

**Genre:** Action, Romance if you squint

Even from fifty yards away, across the dry grass of the valley, he saw the cut of the bandit's axe, swinging in a shining arc. Lyn couldn't bring her sword around in time to block, and threw her left arm up instead. Kent winced as the bandit's blade sunk into her light leather gauntlet—and doubtlessly into her arm as well, from the way she cried out. She managed to finish him, slashing furiously across his middle as she collapsed, so that by the time she hit the ground he was already dead.

Her life flashed before Kent's eyes—or at least, the life he'd seen in her since meeting her that day by the plains. In Sain's old, tired ballads the dying heroes always had _their _lives flash before their eyes, but Kent wasn't so sure how true that was. He always saw Lyn's, every time she took a wound, saw her white smiles and the wind in her hair, saw her in the olive-hued Lycian dress her grandfather had made for her and saw her riding her horse bareback, straddling it like a man would ride. Even the one time his own life had been in danger, after being knocked from his horse in the last skirmish, he had thought of Lyn.

Sain had rescued him that time, plunging his lance through the myrmidon standing over him and calming his stamping horse as Kent wobbled to his feet and climbed into the saddle behind his old friend.

"What were you _thinking?_" Sain had demanded, wheeling his mount around to start pursuing Kent's.

Kent had been thinking of what Lyn had told him just before they had been ambushed.

"_There was a game I used to play with my father," she said with a light laugh, out of the blue. "I remembered it just now. He would ride right at me on his horse, over the plains, and when the moment was right, he'd yell 'Take my hand!'" Her eyes softened at the memory. "He'd charge at my right side, but I'd give him my left hand, and while the horse was running he'd swing me around its neck and up into the saddle behind him. The horse never had to break stride."_

_Kent, whose knowledge of horse training was strictly limited to war, was startled. "That sounds very dangerous, milady!"_

_That only made her laugh again. "Not at all! It was just a fancier way to mount a horse. Every child in Sacae could do it. It was how our parents played with us."_

The notion of "play" seemed absurd to Kent, now. War was what he knew and what he was practiced in. Still, even with all he knew of casualties, panic mounted him when he saw Lyn hit the ground. She was trying to get to her feet, but couldn't seem to find the strength. Another bandit had spotted her and was leisurely making his way toward her, swinging his axe back and forth at just the right level to lop off her head.

The red shield himself currently had two men on him. With a furious cry—_For Caelin!_—that he heard Sain, Wil and Wallace take up nearby over the din, he buried his sword in one of the bandits, deep into the juncture where his neck met his shoulder. The other attacked him while his companion gurgled blood, cheap axe glancing harmlessly off his cuisse, and Kent wrenched his blade from the first opponent—who toppled over—to stab at the second. He wasn't sure if he killed him, but he hadn't the time to find out. Digging his heels into his destrier's flanks, he galloped for Lyn.

She was on her feet now, swaying, but aware of the man heading for her. He was still taking his sweet time, and as Kent raced closer, he could see why: blood ran from her wrist and fingertips in small, steady rivers, making the entire left side of her body sag.

"Lady Lyndis!" he cried.

She didn't turn to look at him. Perhaps she was afraid to take her eyes from the bandit—he had certainly heard the knight's call, and raised his axe in response. To Kent's horror, he began to run, eager to reach Caelin's lady before Kent could.

"Lady Lyndis!" he yelled again. She turned her head to him, this time, but as she did so her sword fell from her right hand. She hardly seemed to notice, using that hand to staunch her left arm instead. "Lady Lyndis, hold on!"

He wasn't sure what to do. His horse was obviously faster than the bandit—he would reach her in time—but it would be slow work getting her into the saddle. He'd have to stop completely and lift her up. The bandit would surely be upon her by then, and Kent was coming from the wrong side.

_The side!_

The thought struck him like a sword's blow, and he quickly switched his own sword to his left hand and thrust out his right.

"Lyndis, take my hand! _Take my hand_!"

It was the reverse of what she told him her father had done, but he couldn't think of another option. He spurred his horse faster, barrelling as if he intended to ride right by her left side…and slowly, as if in a dream, she reached out her right hand.

The bandit was barely a man's length away when Kent wrapped his fingers around her wrist, feeling her grip him in turn. For an instant he was too afraid to pull her, expecting the plan to fail and end with his lady crushed beneath the hooves of his own mount, but then her words came to him again: _Every child in Sacae could do it! _

It wouldn't work if he didn't try. He gritted his teeth and yanked, feeling her leap at the same time, using the horse's momentum to carry her around and up. She didn't quite make it behind him, but she clutched his middle and managed to pull herself all the way into the saddle, gasping at the pain in her arm.

The bandit was screaming now, with no outlet for his bloodlust. He still came, axe high, ready to take Kent down as well if need be—

Kent dug in his heels and tugged on the reins at the same time, swiftly, gently, and his destrier immediately reared, striking out with its hooves. One caught the bandit sharply on the temple, and he fell like a stone. The horse leapt over the fallen body, carrying Kent and Lyn away from the thick of the battle.

It was only after a few seconds that Kent realized Lyn had her uninjured arm wrapped tight around his middle, hanging on as if for dear life.

"What was _that_?" she asked him faintly. "It was as if your horse knew how to fight for you!"

"You trained one way, as a child," he told her softly, "and I trained another way."

"You did it my way, too." He felt her lean her head against his back, voice slurring. "You know…they used to say…you could only do that trick with complete trust. I only did it…with my father. The only one…"

She trailed off, and Kent dug his heels in again. Blood loss would take her quickly if he couldn't find Serra in time. Still…her words softened the edges of his anxiety. He had gotten to her in time, he had gotten her into the saddle—she trusted him. He would find her a healer, too.

"Did you see your life flash before your eyes?" he asked her curiously, trying to keep her awake.

He felt her shake her head. "No…I…I just thought about how…you had fallen off your horse. Last battle. All I could think about."

Kent had smiled even before he saw the blue glow of Serra's staff, not too far in the distance.

* * *

**A/N:**_ I always kind of wanted to write a fic about a good old-fashioned FE-rescue: having to pull your strong cavaliers out of battle and race to get to your weakened units in time. It makes sense with the cavaliers because you can just imagine the unit on the back of their horse, but...Wallace rescuing Rebecca, say, is a funnier image. (I always saw him with her slung over one shoulder and swinging an axe around with the other hand...you know, like it's no big thing.) _


	8. I Just Don't Understand: Raven, Lucius

_**I Just Don't Understand You, Sometimes**_

**Prompt:** Cloudless day

**Characters:** Raven, Lucius

**Genre:** Friendship

**Rating:** K+

"Don't worry, Raymond. Just trust in Saint Elimine. Soon enough, things will be better."

"I just don't understand you, sometimes." Raven tucked his hands behind his head and glared up at the grey sky. He and Lucius were lying by the stream, close to where the army had made camp. Since he had taken up as a mercenary he never minded armies or camps or even war itself, but having to see Hector of Ostia stomping around everywhere made his blood boil. Made him so angry he couldn't eat. Before they began the day's march, shortly after he overturned his porridge into the fire, Lucius pulled him along here, insisting that he needed to calm himself.

"Sometimes the greatest part of understanding is knowing that you understand very little."

"Lucius."

"Yes, Lord Raymond?"

"Shut up."

Lucius did not speak after that, but folded his arms across his belly and hummed a few notes to himself. Raven wasn't sure if it was the monk's private show of rebellion or if his light spirit was really that irrepressible.

"And don't call me Lord Raymond," he added, so belatedly that it was awkward, which only made him angrier. "That's not my name anymore, and I'm not a lord. I have no land. No house."

"Houses and lands can't determine who we are," said Lucius.

"Honour does. And I have no honour—not yet. Not until I've had my revenge upon that bastard, Hector. He took everything from me."

"The gods are the ones who give and take away," said Lucius, while Raven squinted at the cloud-thick sky and willed it to rain, rain hard and cold and drench them both. "All we can do is pray to Saint Elimine for intercession."

"Did you pray for my family?" he asked sharply.

The smile dropped from Lucius's face. "Lord Raymond…of course I did. I loved them as well."

"Then why didn't it work?"

"I'm afraid I don't—I don't understand."

"No, I don't understand _you_. Why pray to something that doesn't exist?"

"Don't blaspheme."

"Blaspheme! When my life was destroyed, where was Saint Elimine?" When Lucius didn't answer, couldn't answer, Raven flipped himself over and grabbed the monk by the collar, startling out a gasp. "Where was Saint Elimine during the murders? Where was she for Priscilla, who prayed three times a day and who now clings like a wounded puppy because she's been alone for so long! Why does Hector rule the richest canton in Lycia while I grovel here, in hiding! Why didn't she stop any of this? _Where was she_?"

"Please let me go," said Lucius, although he did not even raise one hand to grip Raven's wrist, as most might when they fear choking. With a sigh of disgust, he did as he was asked and rolled onto his back again.

"My Lord Raymond, a situation is only as bad as one makes it, if you'll allow me to say so."

"Oh, of course. Every wrong that was done to me will be simply swept away if I just pretend I _enjoyed_ these past few years!"

"That's not what I meant. It's just that…it must be more worthwhile to try to build a new life, instead of avenge your old life. When you've done so, what will you have?"

"Satisfaction."

"I don't think it'll satisfy you, my lord."

Raven resisted the urge to spit at him. Lucius was too bold, always had been, but at least he was loyal. At least he was honest. Raven wouldn't disrespect him for that.

"It will satisfy me. When he is dead, my father's spirit can rest easy."

"Did you think that perhaps Lord Hector had nothing to do with this? He is awfully young. And perhaps even Lord Uther didn't intend to—"

"I do not care what those whoresons intended!"

"No man would purposefully destroy the life of another man, Lord Raymond," Lucius urged, propping himself up on one elbow. "Not unless he was very evil. You must try to see it from Ostia's point of view."

Raven did spit then, off to the side. "I _refuse_. It would be a useless exercise. It would be like looking at the sky and telling me to believe it is cloudless."

"Maybe it is," said Lucius pleasantly, and Raven turned his head to look at him in disbelief.

"Have you gone mad?"

"It's all such a uniform grey." The monk lied back down and tilted his chin up to study it with a little smile. "Maybe there aren't any clouds. Maybe the sky simply decided to be grey, today."

Raven stared. "You have."

Lucius laughed a little, and that just made his eyebrows knit. How could the monk laugh? After everything he'd been through? After the fall of Cornwell, after the hardships he'd endured for the past years, after constantly following a man who didn't exist, serving a man who wasn't a lord, re-befriending a man who was no longer his friend. And the man always pushed him away, insisted the boy he knew was no more, and he could never return. Hector was responsible for Raven's loss…but Raven was responsible for some of Lucius's, at least. The thought filled him with guilt.

"Hey look, a cloud!" Lucius said, interrupting his thoughts and pointing to a little patch of blue sky that peeked through the grey cover. He turned to Raven with his smile widening, as it always did when he was about to tell a stupid joke. "Do you think it will rain?"

Raven allowed himself to smile back, just slightly.

"I just don't understand you, sometimes," he said again, and put his hands behind his head, relaxing for just a moment.


	9. Ugly: Ninian, Eliwood

_**Ugly**_

**Prompt:** Good morning, Beautiful

**Characters:** Ninian, Eliwood

**Genre:** Romance

**Rating:** T

Ninian knew she was ugly.

It didn't matter that handmaids had been playing with her hair all day long until it finally coiled on the top of her head in the most elegant style of the day, it didn't matter that the best seamstresses in the land had been toiling for weeks to make her gown, it didn't matter that every sort of powder and cream she knew (and several she did not know) had been applied to her face to make her cheeks rosy and her eyes stand out. It didn't matter when dowager Marchioness Eleanora exclaimed in delight, when the maids fawned over her reflection in the mirror, when Florina and Lyn each took her hands and kissed her brow.

Her neck looked even thinner and frailer without her hair hanging loose, she knew, and the stark white of her dress only made her skin look sallow. Her eyes were the worst—ringing them with dark lines only made them seem larger, and their unnatural crimson colour now rang out like an alarm, like the jarring stain of fresh blood on cream fabric. Even her eyelashes, now dark as well, seemed conspicuous and foreign. And none of that was anything compared to the scar.

She hugged herself and stared into the mirror. _Ugly_. _A dragon in human skin. _It was not self-pity, just simple fact. She could have returned to her true world, her true form: long, lean, wide-winged and crystal scaled. Something that could soar as high and bright as a star.

She had chosen not to. Staying with Eliwood was more important.

And somehow, he called her beautiful. Time and again he called her that; when her hair was matted with sweat from dancing on the battlefield, when her face was swollen and blotchy after crying, when she tried on high-heeled shoes for the first time and tottered around with such childish awkwardness that Lady Eleanora leaned back in peals of laughter, he called her beautiful.

_He_ was beautiful. He was beautiful even after roughhousing with Hector until he had streaks of dirt all over him, even if he had stayed up too late the night before and was too pale in the morning. The thought wouldn't leave her mind when Florina pulled her into the corridor, nor throughout the entire wedding, especially not when he looked at her with those blue eyes. Every time he did, despite the joy she felt at finally marrying him, her stomach dropped. He hadn't seen the scar. He assumed his new bride was lovely and clean, but he hadn't seen, yet.

Everything passed in a blur, because everything was beautiful—white flowers, vows, candles, cakes, kisses, Eliwood. And he was beautiful afterward, when he took her hand and smiled more widely than she'd ever seen him smile and their crowd of well-wishers followed them up to his bedchamber. She didn't feel nervous until they were standing right before it, and then, once they were inside and the door was safely shut against the jocund laughter outside, she began to tremble.

"What is it?" he asked her, still smiling. "You don't need to be nervous, with me."

And despite herself, she believed him. Perhaps it was because of his unusually ineloquent apology—"I don't know much, I've n-never…"—or perhaps it was because he was still smiling that broad, desiring smile, or perhaps it was because the kiss he finally gave her was so gentle and familiar. Perhaps it was all three. She put her arms around his neck. His kisses came faster, harder. She felt dizzy under the weight of his lips and the heat of his gaze, and when his mouth began to wander down her neck she lost her bearings entirely, only able to stand because he'd wrapped his arms around her.

"I've dreamt of this," he murmured against her skin, which only served to make her moan his name. Why would he want somebody like her, somebody not even of his own _species_, with all the beautiful noblewomen out there? She loved him so deeply, his blue eyes and big hands and narrow hips, and by the time he reached to undo the laces at the back of her dress she was fumbling for the ties to his white doublet. She would be his. She would give herself up to him entirely, and it would feel _good_.

She had almost forgotten why she had felt any trepidation at all as he slipped her out of her dress, as it fell to the floor. He clasped her naked body against his, half-clad, kissing, his mouth so warm, across her collarbone and over her shoulder and—

—he stopped abruptly; pulled away.

"My lord?" she whispered, but he didn't answer. His lips had parted in shock; his eyes filled with horror as they flickered from her left shoulder to her right hip, over and over again. Finally he pushed himself away completely and retreated to the other side of the room, where he practically collapsed onto the edge of the bed and hid his face in shaking hands.

Ninian found that she was shaking again too when she turned her gaze to her own body and saw the scar: long, white, and knotted, made by Eliwood's own sword months ago.

The blow had killed her.

It was Bramimond who had knitted her body together, who had found her soul and tugged it back to fill it. She swallowed hard and ventured, "Eliwood…"

He wouldn't look up, wouldn't respond. She bit her lip, still quivering, and dipped down to slide her arms back through the sleeves of her dress, pulling it around herself as best she could. Carefully, she made her way to the bed and sank down beside him. He winced when she touched his shoulder.

"Lord Eliwood," she said again. He looked up at her then, reluctantly, and she saw with surprise that tears were falling from his eyes. She had only seen him cry once before, and that had been at the death of his father.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice raw with guilt.

"It didn't hurt," she said consolingly.

His gaze went once more to her abdomen, though the scar was now covered by her ivory dress. When he spoke, it was with an incredulous laugh: "_What?_"

"When I was in your arms, my lord," she pressed, touching his shoulder again. "I couldn't feel the wound. The sight of you drove away all pain."

Her words had been intended to make him feel better, but her sincerity only seemed to make it worse—Eliwood hid his face again with a cry of self-disgust.

"This sin shall haunt me for the rest of my days!"

"It was the sword. You told me it was the _sword_."

"I should have controlled it! I should have just _thought_, for a single _minute_—"

"Could you have, even if you knew?"

He didn't answer. Perhaps he didn't know. After an eternity he looked at her, skimming a hand over her abdomen, and demanded, "Why do you care for me? After all I've done to you?"

"All you've done to me?" she repeated softly. "You mean…rescuing me from brigands? Letting me lean on you in the desert? Treating me as someone equal, something _special_, even though Nils and I were different, even though we deceived all of you? Never pressing me for my secret?"

"I should have: I hurt you. I murdered you."

"But you respected me first."

He was silent for a long while, but finally he pressed her back to the bed, gently, and pulled off her dress for the second time that night. His eyes never left her scar. He leaned over her and began pressing tender, methodical kisses down the length of it, hot tears still falling onto her skin. She shut her eyes. There was nothing sensual about what he was doing, nothing reminiscent of his earlier passion. It an attempt to erase the pain, a plea for forgiveness.

"I love you," she whispered to him, and drew his face up to hers so that she might kiss his lips. "I always have. I would have died a thousand deaths, as long as I could be here with you now."

She was only sorry that she was so disfigured; that her form was something that would always cause him guilt and grief. He seemed to see that regret in her eyes, because he touched her cheek.

"I love you, too. I'll never deserve having you for a wife, but I'll do everything I can to attempt it."

She closed her eyes to accept his next kiss.

xXx

In the morning, she woke up first, a warm arm around her waist. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows and she could hear birds chirping faintly from outside. Eliwood's face was across from her own, his light eyelashes resting on his cheeks, his lips turned up slightly as he dreamed, so close that she could feel his every slow exhalation on her own lips.

She watched him until he woke, a few minutes later, and his eyes focused sleepily on her face. She held her breath while she felt her stomach plunge, felt all the warmth leave her. Surely, even after as wonderful as last night was, he would look at her and remember the scar, show his displeasure, however brief of subtle.

He didn't. He smiled at her instead, widely, radiantly, which combined with his half-lidded eyes to create the most peaceful expression Ninian had ever seen him wear, and he raised a hand to touch her hair and trail down her cheek.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice still weak with sleep. Then, as if suddenly remembering his manners, he laughed slightly and added, "Good morning."

His hand slid from her face to her shoulder, where he rubbed his thumb over the very top of her scar before pressing a kiss to it. He was still smiling gently as he pulled away, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"Good morning, Eliwood."


End file.
